Bent
by A Soggy Sandwich
Summary: It starts with a broken test-tube.


**Title:** Bent  
><strong>Series: <strong>Durarara!  
><strong>Rating: <strong>R  
><strong>Characters: <strong>Izaya/Shinra  
><strong>Notes: <strong>Repost of a Kink Meme fill. I need to write more for this pairing.

–

It starts with a broken test-tube.

Shinra blinks, his hands still under the faucet, the shattered glass littering the bottom from where it slipped from his fingers and collided with the surface below. It takes a few moments to even realize he's bleeding, and even longer to lift the wound up to eye level for inspection.

Blood weeps from the pad of his finger in a light but steady flow. Not in spurts enough for artery damage, not heavy enough for veins. The digit throbs as the first sensation of stinging pain hits, and still Shinra is too stunned from the suddenness to move in search of proper care equipment.

A book closes somewhere in the distance, chairs shuffling and footsteps drawing near, but it isn't until a towel is wrapped around the injury with gentle but firm pressure that Shinra is aware of Izaya's presence. He tuts, leaning over to turn off the water, moving Shinra's hand away from the sink.

"Doctor, you know better than that. Imagine what would have happened if I hadn't been here."

And it takes a second or two, but Shinra's laughter comes easily after that, shrugging it off and letting his fellow student tend to that little cut. It's not bad, Shinra explains, won't need stitches or any immediate attention, and Izaya scoffs right before tightening his grip and increasing the pressure, ignoring Shinra's gasp of discomfort.

He notices it then, the look in Izaya's eyes, smoldering crimson and filled with promise and lingering hints of possessiveness. The very one he gave to Shinra when he swore to make Nakura miserable for the rest of his life. Seeing it again, it almost feels as though his blood is freezing within his veins, as if his heart is doing somersaults into his throat in a desperate attempt to suffocate him. It's terrifying, the sudden surge of adrenaline, first onsets of the flight-or-fight response, but Shinra is already trapped with nowhere to go. A fly caught in the web of a spider, wasn't that how that saying went?

But it isn't Izaya he is afraid of. No, Izaya might be unpredictable, but he is far too fascinating for Shinra to fear him. Fear clouds the results, after all. Many things do scare him, but Izaya is not one of them. And Izaya knows it, knows it and dances along the fine edges of Shinra's discomfort as if he erected them himself, knows he won't be pushed away and yet still remains eager to test the boundaries of his friend's tolerance.

(Shinra hypothesizes that one of these days; Izaya will be the death of him. He is probably right.)

That train of thought doesn't last long at all – Izaya isn't that merciful – and Shinra starts when he feels something warm and wet touching his skin, only that much more surprised when he sees that the towel has been abandoned and Izaya's lips have closed around the tip of his finger. There's a questioning noise somewhere in the back of his throat, but it modulates into a hapless wheeze when Izaya gives a particularly lewd sluuurp, his cheeks hollowing in near-perfect imitation of a much more vulgar act.

It stings, but regardless of that miniscule amount of pain, a flush still manages to paint itself across his face, his overactive imagination easily running rampant. Izaya pulls away quickly though, after flicking his tongue against the injury and checking for any more blood, though the bleeding has long-since tapered off. When something cold and metallic presses to the side of his neck; Shinra freezes, instinctively tilting his head back to ease the pressure off fragile skin and the delicate artery beneath. His breath hitches, and he almost moans when Izaya is close enough to hiss in his ear, the blade ominous.

"Ara, you shouldn't be so careless. You might hurt yourself again, and we both are well aware that's my job~"

Izaya won't make the cut, though. He'll taunt and pose and bare his fangs, but he won't harm Shinra. Not yet, anyway. A guesstimate that's only confirmed when his lips are claimed for a kiss, tasting of his own blood with only the slightest hint of Izaya. Shinra is not a good kisser, but that doesn't discourage the other at all. Where he fails in the beginning practice of liplock, he excels in learning quickly, and Izaya is a good teacher.

From there, it only escalates. Izaya fucks him over a desk, growls a hundred heartless remarks, most of which surmising how _disappointed_ a certain roommate would be if she ever found out. Shinra tunes it out to the best of his ability, but orgasm stings as much as his finger and is as bitter as that first kiss, and he can't really ignore Izaya's cheerful declaration that it's been a pleasure and they will certainly have to do this again _real soon._

Years later, the blade tip digs into his bottom lip, and Shinra suppresses the desire to wince as the weapon is pulled away and Izaya's mouth settles over the injury, licking and suckling at the drops of blood that well forth, kissing the doctor soundly. Shinra's body tenses, as it always does when Izaya is too close for comfort, even when the younger man snakes an arm around his lower back in what should have been a peaceful embrace.

To Shinra, it's more of a threatening promise, and though his own hands find the curve of his friend's neck and jaw in a gesture of invitation, he remains wary. Not completely untrusting - Izaya _is_his friend, even if that had to be taken with a grain of salt - but Shinra knows him better than anyone, better than his own family, and knows Izaya is somewhat like an exotic pet; something that can be pacified but never tamed.

They fuck on the table where Izaya conducts his business, much as they had so long ago in that classroom, with Shinra's knees on the floor, his cheek pressing against the wooden surface, and the informant's hands clutching narrow hips. Nothing has changed between them, as it likely never will. Shinra still moans and writhes and makes a racket as his body is abused, and Izaya still hisses biting remarks and hurtful taunts at his ear while pleasuring him in the most sinful ways possible, while trailing fingertips possessively over a barely-there scar from years past.

When their lips meet in the heat of climax, there is only the taste of his own demise, metallic copper and vaguely hinting of Izaya.

He thinks he's become almost fond of it.


End file.
